


To End and Begin Again

by doctor_jasley



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Challenge: bandomreversebigbang, Character Death, M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-18
Updated: 2012-03-18
Packaged: 2017-11-02 03:57:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor_jasley/pseuds/doctor_jasley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grime slicks Brendon’s palms when he wipes them on the backs of his legs. His jeans are sooty again. Nothing is ever clean anymore. What’s left of the world is dark and gritty, filled to the brim with muck and shattered glass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To End and Begin Again

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for past death of a character, dark themes, post-apocalyptic distopia, mild violence, one non-graphic sex scene, angst
> 
> This was written for ladyfoxxx's mix over at bandomreversebigbang. . Her awesome mix can be found [Here](http://ladyfoxxx.livejournal.com/66001.html) at her mix post, and [Here](http://bandomreversebb.livejournal.com/12852.html) at the masterpost

To End and Begin Again

Grime slicks Brendon’s palms when he wipes them on the backs of his legs. His jeans are sooty again. Nothing is ever clean anymore. What’s left of the world is dark and gritty, filled to the brim with muck and shattered glass.

They should all be dead. Each and every one of them. But life bustles on. Well, kinda. Science class used to teach the students that the next World War would bring with it the extinction of the human race.

That didn’t happen.

When the bombs dropped, people died and buildings fell. The reporters left were running around asking _why?_ instead of being constructive with relief efforts. No one knew what happened. Lines of communication got scrambled shortly after.

The world went to shit, and Brendon still doesn’t know how it happened. Some places continue to have power or running water. Ghosts zap the lines, rattle the pipes, or some shit like that to get them to work. Brendon doesn’t think about it. Dwelling on how out of whack normalcy has become only highlights all the things missing.

“You’re going to say yes to Kline.” Spencer’s voice is low, hard to hear above the din of construction two blocks over. Sound travels farther now, either because it can without the constraints of things to absorb it or because it wants to be contrary. Brendon nods. He doesn’t have to speak. They’ve already talked about it.

If Kline wants Brendon to back him, Brendon’s going to agree, turn a blind eye to the violence and blatant Machiavellian tendencies. The city needs a leader. Who’s Brendon to step up and make grievances? Kline has the sheer force of will to get shit done. If Brendon takes his spot at Kline’s side, people will notice. Stop trying to buck the system over petty grievances.

For some reason -one Brendon can’t puzzle out- he’s well-liked for his ability to learn on his feet and the soft words he has for everyone who asks for them. The survivors identify with him. It’s bullshit. Brendon lies to them; things will never get better. They’re always going to be broken, living under the dreary skies of a city that continues to pollute the clouds despite the majority of the population being dead over three years.

“It’ll give you stationary bedding. Don’t think I haven’t seen you slipping from occupied quarters in the slums during the dead of the night.” The disapproving look is enough to have Brendon hunching his shoulders some in defeat. It shouldn’t matter that he’s finding motivation in the tenant housing -motivation for what, Brendon still doesn’t know. They’ve talked about it; Spencer can’t give Brendon what he needs anymore, so Brendon’s allowed to stray.

Spencer says it as if Brendon’s whoring himself out to the whole block. He’s not. A single guy does not equal sleeping around. Gabe’s the only person who doesn’t treat Brendon as if he’s someone to be respected. Everyone else -excluding Spencer- panders to whatever they think his whims are at the moment. It’s disgusting. He doesn’t deserve that sort of attention.

Standing at Kline’s side won’t put an end to the special treatment. It’ll just shift the nature of the sentiment. Brendon’s never wanted to be feared, but something has to be done. People are dying for no good reason. The war ended _three fucking years ago_. No one should be drowning in their own blood over stupid crap. If Brendon can show them that it’s okay, maybe shit will calm down.

Maybe it won’t.

“I didn’t think you were jealous?” Brendon doesn’t pay attention to how thin his own voice is. It stretches itself out on its own accord now-a-days, spouting meaningless platitudes to the masses. It’s possible Brendon has a self-hatred party in the wings waiting for him to finish his daily rounds.

“Why would I be? I know you, though. You’re thinking about Kline. You hate him....Yes, you do. No protesting that fact. He’s not a perfect fit, but you could do worse.” Brendon translates to mean that he _is_ doing worse. It isn’t a lie that he dislikes Kline -everything about the man puts Brendon on edge- but he’s the best the city has. He’s got the balls to fix things. They need this. What Brendon wants isn’t on the table, not anymore. Spencer’s a testament to that.

“Don’t go tonight.” It’s a plea. Spencer hasn’t bossed Brendon around since the war spilled over into the streets, taking out the majority of civilian life with its carnage. They both know where Brendon’s going to find himself when the streetlights kick on at midnight. Spencer follows him everywhere. There’s not a place Brendon goes that Spencer isn’t at least a step behind to.

So what if Brendon’s the only person who can see him? Spencer promised to never leave Brendon, and he hasn’t. That used to be enough, but Brendon’s not so sure anymore.

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

Water whispers to itself in the pipes. Gabe would swear the city’s alive. This isn’t the first time he’s heard the building speak. He’s not crazy. He’s _not_. Other residents on his cramped floor murmur about it, always in hushed tones that fail to break the surface of the white noises that float in the heavy air.

_Their world is haunted by the dead_

Scavenging for food isn’t an easy job, but Gabe’s still physically able. At least, he’s not on the construction teams. The lights might work, however, the heavy machinery is glitchy and prone to stuttering enough to cut off fingers or eat limbs when they’re switched on. 

Ash sticks to his hair stubbornly as he tries to wash it out with cold water. They’re only allowed fives minutes of hot water in the mornings to conserve. The powers that be seem to think scalding heat promotes dawdling in the showers.

Knocks rattle his bathroom door, skittering across the cracked tiles when they drop to the ground. Gabe looks up from the sink in time to catch the rickety wood stutter inward in jerky motions. Only one person has the key to his room, besides himself.

Gabe’s a grunt, but high enough on the food chain to get his own quarters amongst the rest of the chumps. Somehow, being good at supervising others gives him an edge. Gabe’s not going to turn that down. He doesn’t relish sleeping on one of the lower floors where everything’s been hollowed out into one massive room littered with sleeping bags and ratty blankets for the service workers. 

“Am I interrupting anything?” Brendon ducks into Gabe’s tiny bathroom and stares at the dirty ash flecking the tiles. Brendon does the same thing every time he shows up. Gabe doesn’t begin to understand it.

Brendon, for all rights, should be running the city. The reconstruction crews talk about him with awe in their voices. If Brendon decided to call Kline out for being a bloody, power-thirsty dictator, a good half of the city would rise up with him, if not more. Some of the scavenging teams curse about it because they can’t figure out why Brendon won’t revolt.

Rose-tinted glasses keep them from seeing the truth Gabe glimpses whenever he has Brendon pinned to the musty sheets of his bed. A person has to be present to run things. Brendon’s scattered in a thousand places at once. He’s not even aware of the sway he has on people. The power he holds -or could hold- if he’d only open his eyes.

“There’s never anything to interrupt.” It’s the truth, the answer Gabe always gives when Brendon asks. Mirth is outlawed because it distracts the mind from the task at hand. Storytelling and game playing breed contempt over one’s placement in the new society. In the past, Gabe would have dealt out cards to friends and gotten them all drunk on cheap whiskey before fleecing them. He can’t do that now. His friends are all either dead or missing long enough to be considered dead and liquor is only accessible to the medical officers and those who hold a higher position than Gabe will ever have. 

With Brendon around, the night blurs. They always do when Gabe has something else to focus on that isn’t his sorry lot in life. One touch turns into a second that cascades into a steady flow of kisses traded back and forth. They have hours to stretch out into a trillion tiny, little moments Gabe will have trouble recounting as soon as they’re trying to catch their breaths afterwards.

He can always imagine Brendon knocking on his door and asking him the same thing. Every _damn_ time. Yet, Gabe always forgets the breathy moan Brendon tries to hide when he’s stroked in just the right spot. The way Brendon’s fingers dig into the sheets -or muscle- scrambling for purchase when a particularly hard thrust has him sliding with the motion. Or the words that tumble brokenly from his lips when he’s _finally_ , temporarily letting go of the weight he always carries and the only things present in his thoughts are Gabe’s name and pleas of _harder_ , _faster_ , _please_ , _more_.

Gabe doesn’t know why he can only catch the images as they occur, only for them to scatter like Autumn leaves in a brisk breeze as soon as Brendon goes back to wherever it is he goes when he’s not in Gabe’s room . It never seems to matter when they’re in motion together, like they are now. It’s only afterwards, when the visuals slip away, that Gabe wishes he could keep the details for when he’s not in bed with Brendon under him, moist breath dampening Gabe’s skin.

Eventually, Brendon’s dozing, head resting on Gabe’s chest, fingers idly twitching against Gabe’s side, when a thought smashes behind Gabe’s closed eyelids. _They could leave._

Gabe has nothing to stay for. He came to this city as a drifter with no cause to live for. He can leave the same way he entered.

Going alone seems daunting, though. Gabe can’t pin-point when he got used to people, but he doesn’t think he could survive alone again. Brendon only has a dismal future ahead of him. If Gabe can take him away from this place, maybe the slums can rise up, overthrow Kline and his power structure.

_Maybe_ away from this place, Brendon will wake up. Gabe doesn’t know why he wants to see that happen. He just does.

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

Sheets scratch against his skin as he moves. The air’s cool, yet still enough to be suffocating. Brendon slips out of Gabe’s bed. His body hurts in an achy way, but it’s the good type of ache that reminds him that some good things still exist in what’s left of this fractured world.

His clothes are easy to find. They’re strewn across Gabe’s floor in a trail from the bathroom to the bed. It’s not a long journey inverting his earlier steps. Stiff cloth drags across the hairs on his legs when he pulls up his dirty jeans. Spencer’s sitting on the closed lid of the toilet when Brendon shuts the bathroom door.

“What are you doing?”

Brendon shrugs his shoulders after his shirt’s finally buttoned up all the way. He doesn’t have an answer for Spencer. He never does when it comes to Gabe.

“One day, that’s not going to be good enough.”

“I know.” The whisper gets eaten by the rattling pipes. The water doesn’t much like to be contained; Brendon can relate. He just doesn’t know how to break free. Spencer hears his words anyways.

“You promised me.” There’s steel in his voice, and Brendon bows his head.

Four years ago, Spencer’s fingers would have been heavy in Brendon’s hair, a hand laying on his shoulder to ground him. The past has long since faded into a story locked in the heads of those who remember it the best. Spencer’s not speaking an untruth. Brendon did promise him he wouldn’t bleed himself dry for pure freedom. Some days it’s harder to fight that compulsion than others.

“I did. Spence... fuck, I know what I said. It’s just....” Brendon can’t get the right amount of twist and slide to mimic Spencer’s touch with his own fingers. It hurts knowing that. Knowing that he’s lost that pressure as well as everything else in his life.

“...hard... I know Bren, but we’re stuck like this. Go back to bed. I’ll wake you before dawn.”

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

Gabe wakes up with a shout lodged in his throat. He has to cough to move it. Breathing is only marginally easier afterwards. His dreams never seem to get better. Three years after the end of the world, and he still has nightmares about flesh dripping off of bone and children crying for their dead parents.

Hiccupy sobs faintly drip from the bathroom. It takes a moment for Gabe to register the sound as the sink faucet crying from too much attention. Brendon must be trying to sneak out before Gabe’s awake, again. He always washes too long with the cold water. Gabe doesn’t understand how he can stand it.

Using the dim light from the bedside clamp lamp that's duct taped to the wooden frame, Gabe finds his pants trying to crawl under the shitty, wooden frame of the bed. They’re stiff from over-wear, but laundry day isn’t for another week. Gabe can deal. It doesn’t take much to throw his meager stash of belongings into his work satchel. By the time Brendon tries to slip out of the bathroom without making a sound, Gabe’s as ready as he’ll ever be.

“Come away with me.”

Brendon startles like a pigeon left alone on the wire to be picked off by rocks. “I...wha?”

Gabe doesn’t hear Brendon’s words, but he’s close enough to read them off his lips. “If I stay, I’m going to decay like the original occupants of this building. I’m leaving. Come with me.” There’s no way he can be plainer. Brendon will either say _yes_ , or he won’t.

“I...Sp...Why me?” Brendon’s fingers twist in the hem of his shirt enough to lift it. Gabe can make out the ghost of bruises peeking out from where Brendon’s pants are riding low over his hips. He stares for longer than he should, trying to grasp hold of wispy memories from earlier.

Gabe doesn’t know how to reply to that question because he doesn’t have an answer. He should leave alone because he’s too fucked up to save someone else, but this is Brendon. Somewhere along the way that started to matter.

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

“I’m going to ask again, What The _FUCK_ Are You Doing?” Spencer’s hands are raised to the morning sun in agitation. Brendon can make out clouds beyond his clenched fists.

Gabe’s walking a little ahead of him. The road stretched out in front of them is empty of traffic or pedestrians. They’re alone, except for the birds soaring in the sky above them and the ants trekking across the heating asphalt at their feet.

They’ve been walking for days. The scenery rarely changes, besides the sky slowly clearing of smog and death.

“Something new.” Brendon mumbles the words into the loose collar of his dirty shirt. There’s no telling if this is the beginning of the end or a new start. Brendon doesn’t believe in happy stories anymore, so he’s prepared for this to be how he dies, nothing more than a bleached-out skeleton left at the side of the road to become some sort of morbid toll collector.

“You’re just _leaving_? What about Kline? What about the safety of the city walls? This isn’t a smart move, Brendon.”

Maybe this is the stupidest thing he’s done -short of asking Spencer out that first time right after college graduation, when they were both too drunk to understand each other- but this feels prefect in his bones, just like it had felt then.

“I’m not going back. Spencer...I’m not. If I die out here...” finishing his sentence hurts Brendon’s chest too much to follow through with the rest of his words.

“At least we’d be together?” Spencer’s always had an uncanny way of mad-libbing his way through Brendon’s breaks in speech, except for this one time because if Brendon died here, at this very spot, he wouldn’t be alone. He has Gabe now. For better and for worse, he’s found someone else he’s willing to play all the odds for. There’s something freeing in that realization.

“...I miss you...” is nothing more than a whisper that causes Spencer to stop in his tracks. If Brendon could touch Spencer without falling through him, he’d be clinging with his fingers clutched in Spencer’s blue shirt. If they could still kiss, the action would be frantic and shot through with _so_ much need.

“I know you do, B. _I know_.” Spencer stretches out a hand to skim fingertips across Brendon’s cheek, but he pulls away before they can sink past flesh. “I miss you, too. I think maybe, _maybe_ , I should go. You don’t need me anymore. Not like this.” His gaze wanders off to stare at Gabe, who’s stopped to poke at an old highway sign that’s fallen to the wayside.

Spencer’s movements are just as pointed and meaningful as they’ve always been.

A tiny breeze blows by, chilling Brendon’s wet cheeks.

“I’m always with you. Never forget that, but you gotta make your own way now.” The _I love you_ is a whisper that carries past Brendon’s ears when a second breeze tumbles against his chest. 

This time, good-bye feels final. This time, Brendon thinks he might be able to handle it. He’s broken, yes, but not so far gone that he can’t paste himself back together. He’s been mourning for three years. It’s time to move on.

Spencer deserves to be remembered for all the smiles he’s handed out and all the times he’s made Brendon laugh. He shouldn’t be an Albatross weighing Brendon down. Gabe will never replace Spencer, but then, no one ever will. It’s not a bad thing.

If Brendon wants to be free, he has to let go of the baggage. He has to let himself start over. It’s not going to be easy, but it’s not impossible.

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

Weeks of nothing but walking, Gabe’s gotten used to Brendon being at his side. Eight days ago -give or take a couple considering the fact that the sun and moon keep different hours now- Brendon started to talk. He never rambles, though, Gabe wonders if he used to, _before_. Gabe’s never rambled, but he used to be outrageous and lewd, smirky and playful. He’s changed a hell of a lot since then, so it’s a good bet that Brendon has, as well.

There are tells in his word choices, but Brendon never expounds. Gabe learns about Spencer, learns about even more painful deaths and adds some of his friends to the list of the dead Brendon begins to rattle off. The list is long. It’ll never end, even after they’re dead, gone, and added to it.

Some things never change; death will always be one of those things.

It’s uncomfortable, the conflicting emotions that nip at Gabe’s fingers when he’s not paying attention. He’s happy that Brendon’s with him, but sad about the shit Brendon’s been through. Jealousy over a dead guy is another obstacle he has to face. It’s irrational, but that doesn’t stop him from the possessive edge that slinks into his actions every time Brendon gravitates towards him when they stop to rest during the dark hours.

Gabe wants to yell at himself for being such a sleazy douche. Who has issues with a dead guy? It’s not a competition. Jesus Christ, Gabe’s maybe finding he has more quirks than he thought he did. He just doesn’t enjoy the thought of being alone, which is shit because two years ago, he was the _mother fucking_ zen master of loneliness.

Suddenly, it’s almost as if Brendon’s a rusty key meant to unlock shit Gabe’s buried under at least a hundred islands worth of sand. The feeling is an experience he’s not used to. Gabe doesn’t know what it means, except that he’s screwed.

They’re two months into traveling aimlessly nowhere, when they finally run across a rag-tag band of scavengers out scrounging for goods. Gabe’s been steering them away from any of the major cities he used to map when everything first started to rebuild. They eat whatever they can find that won’t poison them -canned foods found hidden in crumbling corners of forgotten buildings or plump berries of varying shades that weigh down scrubby bushes- and sleep whenever exhaustion finds them.

Gabe’s lost count of the number of times they’ve fallen asleep staring up at the changed constellations after curling up to touch and kiss each other on the asphalt or grass that’s under there feet when they decide to stop for the day. Out in the open like this, Brendon’s less closed off. He’s still hiding, just not as badly as he was. Maybe one day soon, Gabe will get to catch Brendon smiling. He’s been dreaming about Brendon smiling for weeks now; it hasn’t happened yet.

When they run into the scavengers, Gabe knows that they’re going to have to tread lightly. He’s not stupid. Brendon looks at him for cues. It’s not a secret what Gabe used to do in the city. He was good at his job and directing the others under his management. He knows all the violence some scavengers like to dole out to random -nameless- drifters if they’re given the chance.

He never had to resort to violence back then and made fucking sure none of his people laid a hand on travellers. It turns out that the scavengers are more weary than anything else. They just want company for a day or two, something to break up the monotony. Gabe doesn’t see a reason why they can’t try and socialize when he gets out what city they’re from -it’s nowhere near their old home, far enough away to be safe, just in case. 

For that first day, things are smooth-ish. The two of them stick out like a sore thumb in the scavenging group, but nothing happens. They don’t mesh with the grim little band of slowly drowning personalities, but that was to be expected. Brendon talks about nothing when he’s asked to. It’s almost like they’re back in the city again, falling into old roles as quickly as it takes to load a clip into a gun and fire it.

Gabe doesn’t know how he feels about it all until the leader of the scavengers makes a move for Brendon sometime during the evening hours of the second day. The action starts out almost innocent-like, but Gabe’s survived the end of the world. He _knows_ things are going to ramp up quickly, so he takes the offensive and goes for disarming as many of the scavengers as he can before something really devastating happens.

Losing Brendon isn’t an option, and Gabe’s not ready to die just yet. What could have been laughed off as an error in communication in another time and place, spirals downward until it’s nothing more than an old-fashioned brawl out in the middle of the highway -rusted out husks of vehicles standing silent guard as violence washes and breaks around them. Brendon should be falling behind Gabe, but he’s giving as good as he’s getting. Gabe almost gets clocked in the chin because he’s not paying attention to the guy standing in front of him. 

A puff of laughter floats up into the air, bubbling and stuttering until it forms into something loud and startling that rolls through all of them. The scavengers stop fighting, and Gabe has to shift his weight from one foot to the other so he doesn’t fall on his ass when the guy in front of him pulls away suddenly. Brendon’s laughing, high and bright. The sound is almost painful to Gabe’s ears. No one hears laughter anymore. It’s been silently banned since the world ended.

Gabe’s staring at Brendon; until this moment, he never thought laughter was an option left on the table. Leave it to Brendon to give it back to the world. A second pearl of laughter joins Brendon’s, and in moments, the air around them is being warmed by the hot breaths of six people laughing at once. Gabe’s too caught up in watching Brendon slowly start to hiccup -his laughter breaking and beginning to tapper off- to do anything more than smile tiredly at Brendon when Brendon’s gaze catches his.

The scavengers gravitate to each other, and Brendon wades around them. He’s no longer laughing. The emotion in his eyes is unreadable. Gabe doesn’t know what he’s trying to say. All this time and Gabe still can’t figure out everything Brendon’s trying to telegraph with his motions.

Brendon slips his left hand into Gabe’s right, curling his fingers around Gabe’s tightly before tugging. In no time, they’re walking off, hand in hand, without looking back. If the scavengers wanted to kill them, they would have shot first, fought with fists second. Gabe’s not worried about them following along wanting revenge.

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

Brendon wants to run. Not for his life or to escape something. He wants to speed up his pace just because he can. He’s alive. Really and truly _alive_. Some days are always better than others, but being out here, on the empty highway, makes him feel light and free.

Freedom hasn’t been something he’s felt for years, until recently. Part of him wants to wince because he’s got Gabe to thank for this freedom, and Brendon’s always going to _feel_ it in his chest when he thinks about Gabe being where Spencer should be but isn’t.

He’s better than he was. The dead deserve their peace, and Brendon held on for far longer than he should have. Letting go, at one time, felt like it would spell out betrayal in the sky, but now, it’s more like lifting an anchor and finally setting sail for new lands, an adventure that isn’t mired by desolation or depression.

Sometimes, if he squints and tilts his head to the side, Brendon imagines he can still make Spencer out in the distance. Watching Brendon, like he always has. There’s sadness trailing that thought, but it’s not what it was. Something cleaner and clearer has taken its place, much like it has with the outside world stretched out before them.

The landscape around them is not mired by ash, soot, or grime. It’s amazing. Brendon doesn’t understand it. Why would the cities still hold up their own little black clouds of ruin while the nothingness stretching in between bleeds out into beauty and serenity?

Smiling isn’t something Brendon’s been practicing since Spencer died, but suddenly, he wants to even if he won’t just yet. Gabe startles when Brendon tugs on his hand to get his attention. They’re running across the asphalt, hand in hand, before Brendon actively thinks about anything.

The wind is biting. Soon they’re going to have to settle somewhere, _anywhere_ ; Brendon’s not picky as long as they don’t choose a city. But, for now, they’re still fine following the highway nowhere.

To an end or a beginning is still to be decided. The unknown is no longer scary to him. Brendon’s okay with not having all the answers anymore -not that he ever did before, but that’s beside the point.

Eventually, Gabe tightens his grip on Brendon’s hand and slows them down to a snail’s crawl. Brendon’s blood sings to move, move, _move_ , so he bounces forward on his toes, draping his arms around Gabe’s neck when he’s boosted upward. The kiss is nearly breathless. It’s perfect. Different than anything from _before_ , but that will never be a bad thing.

Clouds cast shadows across the asphalt of the highway, the inky shades elongating at their feet. Rain begins to fall in giant, cold drops. Gabe shivers, and Brendon smiles against his lips.

“Should we find shelter, or keep walking?”

Gabe wraps an arm around Brendon’s waist to tug him closer. “There’s a run-down gas station ahead. While I’m enjoying this now, carrying a hacking cough with us later is not appealing.”

Brendon nods and goes about squirming his way out of Gabe’s hold. By the time they pry open the jammed door of the gas station, rain water is trickling down their faces in rivulets and goose bumps skate up and down their arms.

Maybe they won’t get sick anyways. 

Lights cut on when they shouldn’t. No power lines connect to the gas station anymore. Brendon checked.

Water drips into puddles that snake rivers across portions of the cracked and warped floor. Brendon has to tip-toe around the mess so he doesn’t drown his shoes even more. The air is thick with moisture but not so heavy with rain water that they can’t breath. There might be a hundred leaks in the crumbling roof, but it’s shelter none the less. Brendon’s not going to complain.

He shivers, and Gabe drags him close. “I think we’re shit out of luck with heat.”

Brendon doesn’t mean to smile. He’s wanted to save it for a brighter day, but he can’t seem to control the corners of his mouth. “We can make do.”

Gabe chuckles lowly, the sound mostly silent. The only reason Brendon catches it is because he’s close enough to feel Gabe’s chest shake with the motion. “What did you have in mind?”

Brendon pauses to figure that one out. Gabe moves both of them to a dry -empty of rubbish- corner before sliding down the splintering and flaking drywall, taking Brendon with him. The word whispering in Brendon’s ear is _anything_ , but that’s not the truth. Brendon wants more than that.

For a second, that tiny thought is frightening. Brendon’s trapped watching Spencer die again. Phantom blood slicks his hands, and he has to lay his head against Gabe’s wet shoulder to push the memory away. Cloth sticks to his damp cheek, and he tries to breathe evenly. He had everything once. He lost that and spent years hiding in the darkness of his own thoughts because of it. 

Can he take that chance again? It’s stupid that he’s thinking about it _now_. Fuck, he decided this months ago, when he easily let Gabe take him from the city without any arguments or complaints. The risk is worth it; it _always_ is.

“Everything.”

Gabe cards heavy fingers through Brendon’s wet hair and it’s not the _same_ as Spencer’s touch, but Brendon can handle that. He thinks he might love Gabe.

“We don’t have time for that right now, but I’m okay with that.” 

Brendon raises his head at Gabe’s words and pulls him in for a kiss that doesn’t last as long as he wants it to.

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

Snow falls in the dim light of a weepy dawn. Brendon’s curled up in Gabe’s lap, asleep. They’re in the gutted-out remains of a grocery store, and it’s shelter from the snow, but not the chill that creeps across the frozen ground.

Heat is a luxury item now and highly sought after. The cities will be jammed packed with bodies searching for warmth. Gabe could steer them in that direction, dilute their essence by shoving themselves back into the swill. Basic needs trump most other desires.

Brendon squirms in Gabe’s arms, waking up enough to press a sleep softened smile into Gabe’s chest. There’s no telling what going back to a city would mean for them. Gabe’s selfish enough to want Brendon’s smiles to himself. They’re rare when he’s awake, and the city will steal them away. Gabe’s not willing to take that chance.

Death by freezing is only a small price to pay for that. Plus out here, they have freedom. No totalitarian dictatorship is commanding their actions for a greater good that no longer exists. City walls and the warmth of artificial heat are not so great a necessity that Gabe wants to give up what they have for the constraining walls of a system he doesn’t believe in.

At least like this, he has Brendon cuddled against his chest. In the city -whichever one they might choose- they’d be pulled apart, Gabe’s sure of it. He’s still capable of manual labor, and Brendon looks soft enough to lock away behind bedroom doors.

It’s not going to happen.

“Mornin’?” Brendon’s voice slurs from a combination of sleep-fog and the cold crawling across their skin.

Gabe nods and lifts a hand to try and smooth Brendon’s hair down. It’s greasy from being unwashed but still sticks up in odd places because of the chill freezing it stiff. “Yeah, you haven’t missed much. It’s snowing.”

Brendon nods and drags Gabe’s head down close enough to kiss him slowly. When they part, Brendon leans to the side, snagging Gabe’s worn satchel with a shaking hand so he can pull out food that’s -most possibly- long since expired.

Breakfast is a quiet affair.

“We need to bed down soon.” Brendon’s words puff out in a cloud of white that mists frost. Gabe lets Brendon crawl out of his lap so they can stand. It takes a moment to stretch out the stiffness caused by the cold and their cramped sleeping arrangement. ”The city-”

“...is not an option.” Gabe turns to pick up his satchel by the fraying strap before saying anything.

“I was going to finish with _is warm_ , but yeah, okay, that too. Just making sure.” Brendon slips his glove covered hand in Gabe’s, and mutters under his breath “never going back.”

Occasionally, it’s good to know that they’re on the same page. Their stubborn resistance to being caged again is perhaps insane; Gabe doesn’t really care. He’s attached to Brendon, and death as a popsicle is more appealing than the complications that come from living in a city.

Somehow, they don’t turn blue from the chill of winter or fall into a wake-less sleep. One day slowly twists into the next, and they last a week in and out of the elements before they find a tiny, cracked access road that by the end of daylight shifts into a gravel path spotted with dead, frozen weed-skeletons.

That night, they huddle against the trunk of a barren tree while the sound of waves crash in the far-off distance. Rest barely finds them. When dawn creeps drowsily across the sky, lightening the corners of the horizon, Brendon kisses him once before standing slowly. He’s thin, even under layers and layers of clothing; they really can’t spend another day outside. 

Noon pokes into their sides about the same time they pass a gate that creaks in the wind. The gate’s rusted but looks moderately cared for. Brown grass crunches under their shoes until it doesn’t. Brendon tumbles to his feet when he stumbles over frost-frozen sand. Gabe bends to help him up and notices houses in the distance.

Smoke curls up to touch the steely cloud cover from a chimney and candle light flickers behind glass. The houses look patched together, like fragments of eight decades of construction techniques spliced together. They’re all small but inviting. Gabe has the urge to rap his knuckles on the front door of the first house. Brendon tugs on his hand, and they continue walking.

A dark shadow passes one of the front windows of the first house as they walk by. Gabe imagines they’re being watched, be it by ghosts or living souls. No one comes out to shoot them for trespassing or offer them in for something warm to eat.

A lonely gull squalls in mid-flight. The waves of the sea drown out the call. Brendon stills at Gabe’s side, the hand not clutched tightly in Gabe’s raises to point. To the far left, the land tapers off into a tiny strip of gray rock. There’s a weathered lighthouse sitting at the edge of the sea lighting the way for no one.

Gabe doesn’t know why the sight makes him laugh, but it does. He ends up falling to his knees trying to hold the noise in.

Brendon drops down beside him and leans his head on one of Gabe’s arms while Gabe tries to pull himself back together. “Look”

Gabe follows Brendon’s voice and nudge to the right. They’ve walked by three houses populated with light. The one off to their right is empty of that. Something white and brittle flutters in the wind. If it makes a noise, Gabe can’t hear it above the waves crashing against the shoreline to their left.

When they stumble up the steps to get a closer look, Gabe finds a note nailed to the door.

_**HI, I am empty right now. Please come in. Make me your home.** _

The note isn’t new, but it isn’t old either. The Initials _G. W._ are scrawled under the invitation. Brendon smiles fuller than Gabe’s ever seen before trying the door handle. It’s not locked, and the door swings inward silently.

Inside, the tiny house is cool. It’s not as bitterly cold as it is outside, though. Gabe goes to lock the door -just to be safe- and finds the handle is too old to click locked.

“I think you’re supposed to use the wood.” Brendon’s absent-mindedly lighting a candle with a match; he’s barely paying Gabe any attention, except he’s apparently watching enough to point out the plank of wood sitting propped up near the door.

Once the door’s barred, the wind whistles by, rattling the tiny house with its motion. Brendon shivers, and Gabe steps up behind him to tug him closer.

“Want to explore?” He’s expecting the nod when it comes.

Brendon goes to pull away, and Gabe turns him, leaning down enough to kiss Brendon once before they start snooping about like skulking foxes in a hen house. The place isn’t large. The dime tour takes maybe five minutes.

There are four rooms. A tiny kitchen with a wood stove, counter space, and a sink with running water. The bedroom’s only slightly bigger than the kitchen, with a bed that eats up much of the space that isn’t taken up by a hideous dresser and unvarnished nightstand. The bathroom has running water, much like the kitchen, but there are no light switches anywhere -which explains the candles and mountainous supply of matches that sits shoved in a corner of the main room next to a pile of fire wood.

When they’re finished exploring, Brendon slips into the kitchen to snag a jar of preserves from the stocked pantry. Gabe’s willing to bet they’re going to have company soon. Who supplies a house and food to strangers without wanting something in return?

when he wanders back into the bedroom, Brendon sits in Gabe’s lap instead of dropping down next to him on the edge of the quilt covered bed.“You’re thinking too much. We’re fine.”

Candlelight from the nightstand casts Brendon’s features in warm half-light.

“We should light a fire.”

Brendon nods, but makes no move to stand. “Mmmmhmm. We should, but I’m comfortable right here. We have a few more hours of daylight left.”

Gabe laughs, and Brendon stretches to the left so he can set the jar of preserves next to the candle. Once the jar is safely out of the way, Brendon cards glove-less fingers through Gabe’s dirty hair.

“Hey.”

Gabe presses his lips to Brendon’s. It shouldn’t be as easy as this. Gabe’s in love, though. It might be silly, but he is. It only took everything crashing down around his head for him to find it, but he did.

If Brendon wants to stay here, then Gabe’s not going anywhere.


End file.
